


Finding Courage

by Surreal, thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-15
Updated: 2000-11-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 05:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surreal/pseuds/Surreal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Byers and Langly must deal with the aftermath of Byers' rape.





	Finding Courage

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Finding Courage by Surreal and Alison

FINDING COURAGE  
by Surreal and Alison (our first co-production)

Author's note from Surreal: PLEASE do read the first part of this series, "Finding Comfort"; otherwise, you'll be confused! Thanks to my always-inspiring and occasionally helpful Beta reader and roommate, Anndie; she kept me sane through this and I drove *her* insane! Of course, thanks to Alison for coming up with the idea of the sequel and working so hard to make this such a powerful story.

Feedback: oooh yes, writers' egos need stroking  
Email: and   
Rating: NC/17 for violence, sexual situations, character description of rape  
Pairing: Langly/Byers slash  
Summary: Byers and Langly must deal with the aftermath of Byers' rape.  
Disclaimer: They're not ours; just as well, we couldn't share  
Archive: Unusual Suspects, Basement, Ephemeral, Gossamer: anywhere else just ask  
Alison's Note: I was so anxious to get all these posted right that I forgot to add my note of thanks to Surreal, first for inspiring me to start writing and then to post it - then to be asked to join her on writing the sequel(s) to "Finding Comfort" was a pleasure and a privilege. Thanks sweetie!

* * *

"John? John, wake up, sweetie," Langly pleads quietly as he gently shakes Byers' arm. The older man had woken him up with a hard kick against his leg, and appears to be having a bad nightmare. He is thrashing, mumbling incoherently and breathing hard.

"Mmmm . . .no, no...please..." Byers is whimpering over and over, fighting Langly's attempts to wake him up. Suddenly he jumps, crying out as he woke.

"Shhh, shhh...it's okay, you're okay," Langly tries to calm him, his hand on his lover's arm stroking gently. Byers shakes him off violently. "Ree, please...don't. Don't touch me."

Byers tears himself out of Langly's grasp, scrambles out of bed and bolts for the bathroom. Langly follows, horrified, in time to see Byers bent over the basin, vomiting. "John" - and he automatically places his hand on his friend's shoulder, only for Byers to flinch away from his touch again with an almost terrified expression on his face.

"Johnny, please, let me help" but Byers steps back, retreating from him again. He is breathing fast, trembling.

"I'm sorry, Ree . . . please, just leave me alone. Please . . . I need to be alone right now."

Langly shakes his head, confused. "But Johnny - I want to help - please, I just want to hold you."

Byers closes his eyes and a shudder goes through his body. "Ree, I can't -I need to be alone tonight. Can you sleep in your own room?"

Langly stares at him in shock. He feels he would do anything, anything at all, to save John from harm. But to be asked to go away and leave him in such distress is tearing him apart. He takes a deep breath.

"If you say so -."

"Yes - please Ree. I'm sorry. Please just go."

Langly doesn't know how he got down the corridor to his own room, but when he switches the light on and sees the cold empty bed he can't face it. He grabs an armful of blankets and retreats to the more welcoming, familiar office, slumping down on the battered couch where he tosses and turns for a long time before he finally, fitfully sleeps, lulled by the familiar clicks and hums of the machines on standby through the night.

He wakes early, stiff and cramped after the night on the couch. But Byers is earlier still; his door is open and Langly can hear him moving about in the bathroom. He hesitates outside the door, then pushes it open.

Byers is standing at the basin, bare to the waist. He has a medical kit open on the side of the basin and is fumbling with a clean dressing. It's the first time Langly has got a clear look at his body since the attack, and the sight leaves him breathless and sick with cold rage. Across the back of Byers' shoulders are a series of deep wounds that could only be bite marks, dark weals surrounded by livid bruising. Byers looks up and sees his reflection. Langly comes closer, desperately wanting to reach out and hold him but just about managing to stop himself. He finds he can barely breathe. "God - John -"

Byers lets out a long shaky breath, nods but doesn't speak. He looks down, unable to meet Langly's eyes.

Langly swallows hard to try to dispel the lump in his throat and moved closer. "Can I help you with that?" When Byers nods he picks up the dressing and carefully, gently smooths it into place, feeling Byers tense under his fingers. His lover is rigid with tension, trembling.

"Please John, talk to me. Tell me."

Byers shakes his head. "I can't, Ree. Not yet. You'll have to give me time."

Langly touches Byers' forearm with his fingers, running them lightly up the length - an intimate secret gesture of love that they share. "Whatever you say."

Byers brushes past him and heads for his bedroom, and the door closes behind him with finality.

Langly returns to the kitchen, his mind a turmoil of rage and confusion. The sight of Byers' injuries has brought home to him the reality of what has been done to him. Langly is in reality a gentle man, in spite of his tough outer demeanour, but if the men who had harmed John had been in front of him at that moment he would have taken them apart with his bare hands. Images race through his mind of what John must have suffered - his sweet natured, loving friend brutally violated by sadistic strangers, possessing and using his body, taking violently from him what he and Langly had shared with such joy and passion.

He reaches out for the one crumb of comfort that he could think of - that John did not appear to remember what had been done to him.

"Or does he - " hits Langly with a fresh stab of pain, remembering Byers' muffled words when gripped in his nightmare. Langly feels sick. John had insisted that he didn't remember the rape, but knowing his friend that well Langly knows that could be because he wanted to spare Langly distress. He sits down before his legs give way under him. He has never had to deal with anything like this before. He has never felt so helpless in his life.

*****************************************  
Next night

For the second night in a row, Langly and Frohike are jolted awake by the terrified screams of Byers in the grip of a nightmare.

Langly jumps up from the couch he'd taken up residence on and hits the hall in a dead run, not even bothering to grab his glasses. He nearly collides with the equally blurry-eyed Frohike in front of Byers's door, but the older man wisely steps aside to let the frightened young man go to his lover.

Byers is sitting up, his knees pulled up to his chin, face hidden in the folded arms resting on his knees. Langly runs to him, unsure of his welcome. He places his hand on Byers' arm, quietly trying to reach him.

"John? John, it's me."

The bearded man's head jerks up, looking at his friend with such fear that Langly feels his legs weaken. But after a second recognition sets in and Byers unfolds his legs, reaching out for something to hold.

"Oh, god John," Langly whispers as he sits on the bed next to Byers' legs, taking him into his arms and holding him tight, rocking him gently and absorbing the tears, the choked sobs of a man still overcome by the images his mind refuses to release him from.

Frohike watches for a moment, stunned by the whole thing, before backtracking and leaving them alone.

"Shh...shh, baby, it's okay, you're okay now. It was just a dream, it wasn't real," Langly murmurs as he holds Byers, wishing he could do more.

It is several minutes later before Byers is quiet again, and he pulls back a little. He sniffs noisily, wiping his face with the sleeve of his pajamas. "Oh, god, Ree. I'm sorry...sorry, I didn't mean to scare you..." he mumbles, still not in complete control.

"John, it's okay. It's what I'm here for, honey," he tells the older man, putting his hands on Byers's shoulders instinctively. Just before he realizes he feels something strange, Byers hisses and pulls back in pain.

"What--" Langly starts, moving forward to look at the back of Byers' shoulder where his hand had just been. "Oh, shit....John, you're bleeding," he says, seeing the patch of red that had soaked through both the bandage and the fabric of the pajamas. "Fuck," Byers curses softly, turning his head in a futile attempt to see what was wrong. Langly quickly unbuttons the top of the shirt and pushes the cloth out of the way. "John, come on, we need to go to the bathroom so I can look at this."

Byers nods, more than a little frightened again. As he gets up and heads for the bathroom, the younger man runs back to the living room to grab his glasses.

The older man stands in front of the mirror, turns slightly to see the blood on his shoulder and shivers violently. Langly comes back then and pulls the medical kit out from under the sink. "I need to take off this bandage, okay?"

Byers nods and Langly carefully pulls off the gauze, tossing it into the garbage. He pulls a couple of antiseptic cloths from the kit and carefully wipes the blood from around the raw wound. When he can see the problem, he sighs. "You tore a few of the stitches. We need to get you to the hospital to restitch these; it won't stop bleeding on its own."

He meets Byers' gaze in the mirror, the older man's face pale with fear. He nods slightly, his eyes dropping down.

"John, it wasn't your fault; you must have done it in your sleep. It's okay," Langly reassures him, taping several pieces of gauze over the wound to control the bleeding until they got to the hospital. "Come on, let's put some clothes on and I'll drive you down there, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

************************************************  
3 am, a few nights later

Never before in his life has John Byers so much feared the night.

Every night is the same now, an ever-repeating round of brief fitful snatches of sleep broken by nightmares, inescapable flashbacks of the night when he was so brutally attacked.

Strangely enough, he can sleep better during the day, dozing off on the couch in the office. But when the night comes, the silence and the dark gathering round him bring with them inexorable reminders of that night; and now that he has sent Langly away, he is as alone and helpless as he was then.

Alone to face the fears, not only of the nightmares, of the past, but of what the future might bring. Only a week since the attack, but he knows he must endure at least another two before he knows whether his worst fears are realised, whether he has been infected with HIV.

In all these endless nights, laying awake when he knows in the next room his lover is at least making an attempt to sleep, his mind cannot let him indulge in such luxuries.

Even in his worst of nightmares, he never sees the face of his attackers. Only the memory of intense pain, the hatred for the vicious strangers who took from him more than their few moments of physical pleasure. They had taken his security, his confidence. Brutally torn from him an act that he had only shared with one other person, a man he had grown to love so deeply and was hurting more every day by not letting him be there to care for him.

Byers hates what he is doing to Langly, hates that he can't tell him what he is feeling, how he relives that night over and over in his mind in dreams as well as in waking hours.

He wants so badly to let the younger man hold him, to tell him everything will be all right and to make love to him in the caring, intensely intimate way that only he could. But he knows that the closeness with Langly that he aches for is the one thing he cannot allow himself.

All those nights, he is only able to get a few hours of haunted sleep. His face streaked with frustrated tears and red with anger, he buries his head in his pillow, pulls his blankets tight around his sore body and tells himself that tomorrow, he will do it. Tomorrow, he will get up and go to Ringo. Tell his lover everything and let the younger man hold him while he wept in relief.

And all these mornings, he runs his shaking hands through his tangled hair, frustrated and afraid. After too many days of this draining cycle, a new image comes to him. One that makes the decision to keep to himself, to keep Ringo away from him emotionally and physically, an easier one to make in the morning. He remembers Mulder.

Years ago, when Scully was battling an incurable, inoperable cancer that was destroying her body slowly in front of their eyes. They all felt the sense of precognitive loss, the knowledge that their dear friend had only a short time left with them and her last days would be filled with unspeakable pain.

But it isn't that image of the disease-weakened Scully that his mind forces upon him.

It was that night, after they had barely escaped with their lives from the Lombard facility. Byers had gone to Scully as Mulder had asked him to, told her to stop her treatments. After seeing Scully safely to visit another dying woman, Byers had run to find Mulder.

It was Mulder, standing at that nurses' station, yelling in fear and frustration to anyone who would listen, desperate to find the woman he didn't yet know that he loved. Searching, pleading frantically to find her, terrified at the prospect of losing her too soon and not being there when she needed him.

There are other images of Mulder, too. Visits by both agents to the Gunmen lair, seeing the look of barely concealed anguish just under the surface whenever he thought Scully wasn't looking. Byers had seen it, his sensitive nature keenly aware of the pain Mulder was having to endure, watching his closest friend and would-be lover dying a slow, painful death.

Now, in the days after the rape, Byers finds himself picturing Langly with that same expression of horrified understanding. Every day the call didn't come was another day when they were left to wonder if Byers would be facing a long, painful road of inescapable death in the years to come.

As he lay in bed after waking up later that night he felt himself start to shiver. Not from cold, but from realization. Would he have to rely on Langly to take care of him so completely in only a few years if he got sick? He hated to think of that. It made him feel queasy just thinking that he would be forcing someone who cared about him deeply to witness in the most intimate and personal way his physical and mental deterioration as he slowly gave in to an incurable disease.

He knew that he hadn't tested positive yet, but that didn't settle his mind when it really got going on this dark, unbending road.

It's the waiting that is tearing him up. Not knowing if he had contracted HIV from a faceless stranger.

He couldn't allow himself to stay too close to Langly, to continue to be so integral in each other's lives. If he tested positive, the knowledge that he would be putting another person down the same road as he had seen Mulder go down too many times was too much for him to bear risking.

Byers needed to back away, to keep a distance between himself and his friends. It was the best thing for all of them, he convinces himself.

He had to keep himself detached if he was going to make it through this.

******************************************  
A few days later

"Ringo?"

"Yeah?" Langly's head shoots up at the cautious inquiry. He turns his chair around to face Byers. Those eyes, that unknowing innocence and Byers feels the familiar need to stop right there, to back away again and wait it out for another day. In his hesitation he sees Langly's expression turn to curious concern and he knows he couldn't stand to see that for the rest of his life, however long that was. He had to do it now.

With a steadying breath, he pulls a chair up to sit facing his lover. He hesitantly raised his head to meet the younger man's eyes before he spoke. "Ree...I've been doing a lot of thinking for a while now. I know all of this has been hard on you, and I'm sorry I haven't been much help."

"John, I--"

"Don't, please," Byers cuts him off, closing his eyes against the sharp sting. "I think it would be best...for both of us, if we took some time apart."

"Fuck, Johnny, please! I'm doing the best I can here, damn it!" Langly jumps to his feet, turning and taking a few steps away from the other man. He runs his hands through his hair in frustration.

Byers stands too, but doesn't follow. "I know, and I appreciate everything you've done for me but I...it's too much. I need to be left alone right now, and I don't know how long this will take."

"You know, I can understand if you just came out and said that you hate me, that you can't stand to have me around you anymore. But this is fucking driving me nuts, John. I don't know what to do, I don't *know* how to help you and you won't tell me how. Fuck, you won't talk to me at all!!" The younger man sounds like he is on the verge of tears as his voice breaks off. He glances back at Byers for just a second before quickly walking away, down the hall to his own room and slamming the door with a resonant thud.

************************************  
Few days later

Langly opens the door without a word to allow Scully to enter their office. Scully walks past him, not getting a good look before he turns to lock the door again. She enters the office area, which is eerily quiet and has an air of suppressed tension. As she is taking off her coat Langly brushes past her to retrieve the files they had been working on for her. Now in the better light, she gets a good look at him and is stunned. His normally pale complexion is even lighter than the last time she'd seen him, the night she'd driven him to pick up Byers at the hospital. His hair hangs in dull, lifeless strands on his hunched shoulders.

"Langly, how is everything here?" she asks him softly, breaking the thick silence between them.

He glances at her as he retrieves a stack of papers left in the printer. He quickly answers, "Fine, it's fine."

She doesn't believe him, not for a second. "Where is everyone?"

Langly glances around. "Um...I think Frohike went out somewhere, I don't know. John...um, last I saw him he was on the couch messing with a laptop," he answers, a harsh rasp lowering his already subdued voice.

"Last you saw him? Langly, what's going on?"

The blonde man sighs, lowering himself carelessly into a chair. He buries his face in his hands for a moment before looking back up at her. "It's...fuck, I don't even know anymore. John and I broke up a few days ago, and..." he stops, looking away quickly, hiding the red flush of emotion that stains his cheeks.

"God, I'm sorry," Scully tells him quietly, not knowing what else to say. She watches him for a moment before pressing on. "I know it isn't my place to ask, but I'm guessing this was not a mutual decision?"

Langly continues to stare at the floor, but closes his eyes and nods slowly. "He said he needed some time alone," he mutters, then coughs out a little choked laugh. "Not like this is the best place to get that."

He looks at her now, his eyes shining with tears. "I'm worried about him, Scully."

She pulls up a nearby chair and sits facing him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "How is he? I mean, physically and mentally." He shakes his head, distraught. "How the fuck should I know? He won't let me get within ten feet of him." He lowers his voice again, controlling his emotional outburst. "He's not eating much...not sleeping; he has nightmares all the time but after the first few nights he just pushed me away, wouldn't let me help him. I don't know what to do. I want to help him, but he won't let me." he finally chokes, angrily wiping away the tear from his cheek.

"Is he having any counselling?" she inquires tentatively.

Langly shrugs. "He went a couple of times . . . then he said it was a waste of time, he didn't remember anything anyway. But Scully - I'm not sure about that. These nightmares -"

Do you think he would talk to me?" she asks cautiously. She is willing to at least try, although she has not had much more experience in this area than Langly.

Langly shrugs, lifting his head to glance over to the couch. He smiles a little, which makes Scully turn around, curious. She can see through the empty shelves that Byers is stretched out with the computer on his lap, head leaning against the back of the couch and obviously fast asleep.

"At least he's getting some sleep," Langly comments dryly, turning back to his computer. "Had to take him back to the hospital the other day . . . they gave him some sleeping pills, but I don't think he's taking them. I don't know if he'll talk to you. If you want to try..." he trails off, shrugging a little.

"Yeah," she says, squeezing his shoulder as she stands. She walks over to the other side of the office, standing over the sleeping figure. Gently, she reaches down to shake his arm. "John?"

He mumbles for a second before tilting his head to look at her.

"What--oh, Scully," he swallows a yawn, moving to get up.

"Don't get up, I just want to talk," she tells him. She indicates the space next to his legs. "May I?"

"Oh, sure, please sit," he says politely, pulling his legs closer to the back of the couch to give her room.

"How are you feeling?" she asks directly, watching his face.

"Fine, I'm good," he responds quickly, lowering his gaze to the computer again. She reaches a hand out to lower the screen, turning his attention back to her. "No offense, Byers, but you don't look fine. You've lost weight, and Langly tells me you haven't been sleeping well, either."

"How the fuck would he know," he grunts bitterly.

Instinctively, Scully places her hand on his arm. But she is shocked when he jerks away from her touch violently with a startled gasp. "Byers, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"No, it's okay...sorry," he mumbles, crossing his arms across his chest to try to hide his shaking. He laughs humorlessly. "Just a little jumpy today."

Scully nods as she stood. "Byers . . .John, if you need to talk, please feel you can call me. You can't live like this." He nods absently, staring at the wall.

She walks away reluctantly, her stomach tight with concern as she goes back to where Langly is pretending to work on his computer. She holds his gaze meaningfully as she picks up her coat and the files. "It's dark outside; would you see me to my car, Langly?"

He nods knowingly as he follows her out. At the bottom of the stairwell, Scully finally speaks. "Langly, please call me if he keeps this up for much longer, or if he gets worse."

"Is there anything I can do? I feel so helpless..." he says unsteadily.

She opens her car door and turns to face him before she got in. "Just make sure he knows you're there for him but give him space." She notes the frustrated clench of his jaw and continues. "I know this is tough, but it's something he thinks he needs to deal with by himself. To be honest, he looks awful right now. Try to get him to eat something. His physical health is the easy part. I think right now he just needs more time."

"Yeah," Langly sighs. "I know. Thanks, Scully. I really appreciate your help."

"Anytime. I know this is hard on you too, Langly. You know, don't you, that this may take a long time. For some rape victims, it takes months before they're ready to resume a normal life."

Langly nods without speaking, biting his lip.

"Just keep me posted, okay? I need to know that you guys are okay." She smiles, patting his arm before climbing behind the wheel.

Langly pushes the door closed, standing in the alley as she drove away. He doesn't want to go back upstairs, sitting with his former lover alone and pretending that he isn't hurt by the silence, by the rejection, when he is the one person in the world who John should be able to turn to to help him through.

Another few days later

Byers is sitting at his computer, tapping his fingers distractedly on the edge of the table and staring blankly into space. After almost an hour of watching the older man do this, Langly decides that he'd had enough. He gets up and walks over to his ex, hovering over his shoulder dangerously close but not touching him. "John, are you still working on that story?"

Byers doesn't answer; he doesn't even seem aware that he'd been asked a question. Langly puts his hand on the other man's forearm, getting his attention. "Hey! What the hell is wrong with you? You've just been sitting here all day not getting anything done," he accuses the older man sharply.

"Hey, back off," Byers shakes him off hard as he jumps to his feet. "I've got a lot on my mind, all right?"

"Yeah, I know you do. You always do. But you're the one who's always telling me to stop daydreaming and work on the articles--" "I said back OFF, Langly," Byers shoots back, glaring at the younger man with genuine contempt. Langly knows he's overstepped his new boundaries when Byers starts calling him by his last name again, but he's too pissed already to let this opportunity pass. They had not spoken more than a few polite words to each other in almost a week and he's finally had enough. "You know, *Byers*, I'm getting really tired of this act of yours. It's been over three weeks and you still expect us to just leave you alone, let you be moody and depressed. I'm fucking sick of it!!" His voice rises to a fever pitch as he spits out the last few words, his hand slamming down on the table to emphasize his anger.

"Maybe if you'd do like I ask, if you'd just get off my back and leave me alone instead of constantly prodding me and asking me how I feel; maybe then I'd get a chance to get over this!!" Byers yells back, the volume of his voice matching the younger man's.

"That's just it, John; you refuse to get over it! You have to realize that it *does* help to talk about what happened. If you just keep it locked inside...it just keeps hurting." Langly had dropped his voice to a more gentle, pleading tone but the passion behind his words has not diminished.

"How the fuck would you know? Have you ever been raped, Langly? Have you ever had someone take everything away from you like that?"

"No, I've never been raped, but I've been hurt enough times to know how to deal with it."

"Not like this you haven't. Nothing you've ever gone through can compare to how much I had taken from me."

"How am I supposed to know that if you won't TELL me??" Langly feels his anger returning, the frustration of weeks of waiting and watching finally coming to the surface. "How do I know you even put up a fight with that guy, huh? Maybe you went out looking for company, we had just had a fight, remember? Maybe you LET him have his way with you, maybe you WANTED it, maybe that's why you refused to tell me about it, is that it? Huh, Byers?"

Byers is shocked by the outrageous accusation, but no more than Langly himself. The younger man doesn't have time to process this, however, because in the next instant he is knocked off balance by a vicious punch to his jaw, sending him stumbling backwards.

Before his vision clears, the older man has pushed him up against the wall, his arm pressed hard against Langly's throat. His face inches away, Byers' rough hiss scares him more than the yelling had. "Fuck. You. Langly. Just fuck off and don't EVER talk to me like that again--"

"Hey, easy," Frohike's sharp bark cuts in out of nowhere. The shorter man grabs both of Byers' arms and pulls him back away from Langly hard, holding him tight and making no indication that he has any intention of letting him go. "What the hell is going on here?"

Neither of the younger men speaks, Langly still trying to get his breath back and staring at his former lover in hurt disbelief. Byers doesn't struggle, his body perfectly stiff in Frohike's grip.

Langly is the first to move, making a choked gasping sound as he suddenly bolts across the room and out the door before either of the other men could tell him to stop. The instant the metal door slams shut, Byers entire body goes limp and he drops to the floor, catching himself with his hands and knees and breathing hard.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Byers?" Frohike asks, still staring at the door and unaware of his friend's distress.

"Oh, god..." Byers' anguished whisper gets Frohike's attention and he turns back to the other man, alarmed. "John? Hey, man, what's going on here?" he asks more gently.

Byers raises his head, his eyes red with unshed tears. "What did I do?"

***********************************************************

Frohike stands looking down at Byers in shock and deep concern. He had seen this sort of reaction before, in Vietnam and after, young comrades of his put through unbearable ordeals reacting in the aftermath with what was now known to be post-traumatic stress. He had never thought he would be grateful for those experiences, but at least he has some knowledge of how to treat someone in that position.

He reaches down and hauls Byers to his feet, not roughly but firmly enough, taking control and leading him across to the couch. "Sit. Stay there."

Byers obeys quietly; he seems dazed and does not move while Frohike fetches a glass of water and sits down beside him. "Drink this."

Byers looks at him, awareness beginning to flicker in his eyes; he takes the water obediently and sips it, his hand shaking only slightly. Frohike takes the glass from him and sets it down.

"Okay. Now you are going to tell me what the hell is going on."

"No - I've gotta go and find Langly - where'd he go?" and he struggles to his feet. Frohike grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him down again, hard enough this time to get Byers' attention.

"You're going nowhere, buddy, till we get this out in the open. There's something you're not telling us, that's obvious. I'm not gonna stand by any longer and see what you're doing to yourself - and what you're doing to Ringo if you care about that."

Byers flinches when he says that and looks away. His voice is low and hoarse. "I can't tell him -"

"I'm not saying you should tell him. I'm asking you to tell *me*. I'm *not* Langly. But you two are my best friends and I love you both, and I care like hell about what happens to you. But it's not the same as Langly. So I think you'd better tell me, John, for your own sanity if nothing else."

Byers looks at him apprehensively and Frohike rubs his shoulder reassuringly. "C'mon. What is it you can't tell Ringo? You can tell Papa Frohike."

That gets the smile he had intended, and Byers relaxes perceptibly, leaning back against the couch and shutting his eyes for a moment. Frohike feels a rush of protective affection for him, vulnerable and wounded as he is; he had spoken jokingly, but he feels an almost paternal love and concern for Byers at that moment.

Byers sits up straighter and reaches for the empty water glass, turning it restlessly in his fingers. He flicks a glance at the older man then away again as if unable to meet his eyes.

"Well, I haven't told him . . in the hospital, they tested me for STDs, but they said I won't know for weeks whether I'm clear for HIV. I couldn't tell Ree that, I just couldn't put him through that, and Mel, what happens if I test positive? It would be the end for us, I couldn't risk infecting him and if I got AIDS - Mel, you remember how it was when Scully had cancer, what it did to Mulder, I couldn't put Ree through that, and if I infected him too . ."

The words are pouring out now, faster almost than Frohike can absorb them, and he instinctively moves closer, putting his arm round Byers' shoulder. The glass falls unheeded to the floor and Byers puts his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Frohike can only rub his back reassuringly, waiting for Byers to come back to him.

Eventually Byers raises his head, looking at him. He shrugs slightly. "So -"

"Is that all?"

"What -?"

"Is that all you've been beating yourself about? Do you think so little of Ringo, that you don't think he'll be able to cope with this? *If* it happens that you test positive, and you know the chances are pretty remote, then don't you think he's strong enough to deal with it? He's not a child, John, and you can't protect him from something like this. You shouldn't try."

"But -"

"Or are you scared he'll walk out and leave you, so you're pulling the plug first? Is that it?"

The harsh words have the shock effect Frohike was intending, and Byers stares at him intently, his mind beginning to work normally again. There is a long silence, while he begins to see the truth of the older man's words. He swallows hard. "Yes .. . you're right of course. He looks back at Frohike again. "But that's not all . . ."

"Go on."

"It's the dreams . ."

"Tell me."

"They're getting worse . . . at first I couldn't see their faces, only feel . . . but now they're getting more vivid . . . and Mel, the other night it was different, I saw his face, and it was Langly's face . . ."

Somehow he had expected Frohike to be shocked, horrified by this; he doesn't know how Frohike has had to face his own demons conjured up by his experiences in Vietnam, and he knows only too well the punishment that a person's mind can inflict on itself. This is one thing he *does* know about. He pauses, choosing his words carefully.

"John, I want you to think about what I'm saying. Doesn't it seem to you that the two things are connected? You haven't been honest with Ringo, and your mind is telling you so."

Byers stares at him blankly. "You mean, if I tell him, the dreams will stop?"

"I think so, yes. But it's not only that; he deserves to know, John. If you're ever to get back to what you had before, you've got to tell him everything."

John laughs bitterly. "Everything? Mel, you haven't heard the half of it yet" and he gets up and wanders across to Langly's workstation, looking at the piles of papers and files that have accumulated in the last few weeks, running his fingers along the keyboard. And after a while the tension seems to go out of his shoulders, and he looks back at Frohike still sitting on the couch.

"Okay. Look . . . I only want to go through this once . . . will you go find him and then I'll tell you both."

"Sure. Will you be okay on your own? You won't do anything stupid while I'm gone?"

Byers is practically pushing him out the door. "No, please -just go and find him. Tell him . . . just ask him to come back."

*************************************************

"Langly?"

Langly glances around, trying to find the source of the voice calling his name. He spots Frohike walking down the paved path, his dark clothes making him nearly invisible if not for the lights.

The younger man quickly swipes the moisture off his cheeks with the sleeve of his sweatshirt before answering.

"Yeah, over here,"

"There you are; thought I'd find you here."

"I was never very good at hiding."

Frohike smiles, then notices for the first time that Langly had been crying. "Hey, you okay?"

"Shit," Langly mumbles, sniffing quietly. "Yeah, just thinking." "Yeah, I know," Frohike responds softly. He moves to stand next to Langly, putting his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I had a long talk with John. I get the feeling there is more going on here than we know."

Langly nods sadly. "I think so too." He pauses for a long time, looking out at the water in front of him. His head drops suddenly and he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is where it happened, you know. Right around here."

Frohike just listens, keeping his eye on the other man to avoid looking around. "Yeah."

The younger man sighs, swallowing his instinctive rush of anger at the thought. "The things we've seen over the last few years, we know what people are capable of, the evil there is out there . . . but this . . .how can anyone do that to another human being, Mel? How can shit like that be allowed to happen anymore?"

The older man shakes his head sullenly. "I really don't know, Langly." He gives the younger man another moment to collect himself, collect his thoughts before speaking again. "Um, John wanted me to come find you. He wants to talk to both of us."

Langly doesn't appear to have heard him, or if he did, let it pass. "I just wish I knew what happened out here that night." Frohike takes his arm firmly to urge him away. "I think we're about to find out. C'mon, try not to think about it. He needs you now."

The younger man nods silently and gets to his feet, staring across the darkened water, not moving for a moment. Frohike looks at him in concern.

"You know, it's strange . . .there's something John doesn't know, I've never told him . . . before we got together, I used to come out here and sit on that bench, when it got too much for me and I couldn't stand being in the same room with him because I wanted him so much . . . "

He breaks off, and Frohike is silent because he knows there is nothing he can say; but as they walk back to the car, he keeps his hand on Langly's arm the whole way.

*********************************

Byers opens the door for them before they have a chance to knock, his eyes going immediately to Langly's face. He extends a hand hesitantly, his face showing his fear.

"Ree - are you OK? I'm sorry . . . I don't know what came over me . . god, I didn't mean to hurt you -"

Langly grabs both his hands like a drowning man grabbing at a lifebelt. "No - John, it was my fault. I should never have said that, you know I don't really believe it . . . it's just that I've been so worried about you - " and he hesitantly pulls John closer, giving him time to back away if he wants to. He slips his arms carefully round the older man, feeling with another stab of anguish how painfully thin his lover has become, and they hold each other silently for a few seconds.

Langly pulls away and smiles at him. "I never knew you packed such a punch."

Byers chokes on a half laugh, half sob, and gestures towards the couch. "Uh... please, both of you, sit down."

Frohike automatically gravitates toward the armchair at one end of the couch, facing the younger man. Langly hesitates, unsure of his place. Byers looks at him and silently reaches out a hand. After a brief moment Langly moves toward him, taking the outstretched hand and sitting next to his lover. He fidgets nervously for a moment, but is stunned into stillness when Byers leans against him, resting his head on the younger man's shoulder. They lean back against the couch and Langly puts his arm around Byers' shoulders.

Byers takes a deep breath, then finally breaks the uncomfortable silence. "I have to tell you guys the truth. I ... uh, I lied to the police and the doctors about what happened."

Langly stiffens, his arm tightening around the other man as he exchanges a look with Frohike over Byers' head. "What do you mean?"

Byers leans forward, elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He sighs. "I wasn't unconscious during the attack. I remember it all. I remember everything."

"Oh, god John..." Langly whispers, feeling like he'd been punched in the stomach. He instinctively holds his lover closer. "I didn't want to have to tell you this Ree . . . but it's why I've been having nightmares; I can't make it go away. I need to tell you guys what I do remember." His voice shakes just enough to make him stop.

"Johnny ... it's okay. We're here now, just us. Please ... tell us what happened." Langly urges him soothingly.

Byers looks searchingly at him for a moment, gathering his courage together. "Okay. Uh ... well, I was walking off the path, close to the pond. It was really dark, I couldn't see anything but the light reflecting in the water. I remember hearing something behind me, like branches breaking and then something hit the back of my head.

"I must have blacked out for a second or two, but I remember being half dragged along the ground . . . I could hear voices . . . but the next thing I know someone is pulling my suit jacket off, and my belt . .. they tied my arms behind my back with my belt . . they took my tie off and gagged me with it . . . then they hauled me up and pushed me up against a tree; that's how I got the cut on my cheek ... Then ... one of them pulled my pants down, and uh, he started..." Byers voice trails off, shaking now as he struggles to fight off the fear his memory pushes on him.

"It's okay ... John, it's just us here, it's okay. You don't have to tell us everything if you don't want to." Frohike tells him gently.

Byers leans forward again, staring at nothing as the events replay themselves in his mind. "No, I need to . . . I think I have to . ." He looks down, his fists clenching. "Uh ... well, There were two of them, but I never saw their faces; they had masks on, those Halloween masks. . . I couldn't believe what was happening . . . it hurt so much, I couldn't believe anything could hurt so much . . I couldn't think; I couldn't breathe.

"He was whispering in my ear, cursing the whole time, telling me what he was going to do . . they kept telling me that if I made any noise they would kill me ... he just kept forcing me against that tree, I thought I was going to die right there..." He hastily wipes the tears that had escaped from his cheek, still lost in the memory. "It seemed to go on for ever . . . he was biting me. . ."

"After... they let me go and I just fell down, I couldn't move, and he kicked me, I could hear him laughing . . . then the other guy says, it's my turn . . .

He drops his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking. "I didn't think it could get any worse. . ."

Langly feels dizzy with anger, his stomach clenching in fear. He whispers, "Go on, John, let it all out . ."

"The first guy, he pulled me up on to my knees in front of the second guy . . . and he twisted my arm up behind my back and I couldn't move . . . he pulled my head back and the second guy pulled down his pants and he made me . . . he made me . . ."

John turns his head into Langly's shoulder and tightens his grip, trembling. Langly rocks him gently, stroking his hair, murmuring nonsense words of reassurance, knowing nothing he could say at this point could be of any help, only his wordless presence. He holds John close for a long time, knowing he must give his lover all the time he needs.

After a while John straightens up a little, wiping his face, and goes on. "I guess I must have passed out after that cause the next thing I remember is waking up in the emergency room. All I know from that was how much I was hurting; they were touching me and it hurt...everything hurt. The doctor told me later that I was screaming after I woke up and they had to sedate me so they could take care of me. I don't know...everything was pretty much a blur after that; I remember you and Scully being there pretty clearly and all of that, then I think the drugs kicked in again."

"Yeah, you were pretty gone as soon as we got you to the car," Langly confirms.

Byers nods against his chest slightly. He brings his hand up again, running it over his face. "Yeah. Um ... that's all I really know; I figured it wouldn't have mattered whether I told the police the truth or not, since I don't know any details about the guys. But I had to tell you guys; it's been tearing me up, I can't get it out of my head and I can't sleep, and when I do, the nightmares..."

Langly puts his other arm around Byers, holding him close against his chest as the older man finally gives in, sobbing quietly. "It's okay, John ... it's over, it's over." The younger man holds his lover tight, wishing he could absorb all the pain and fear into himself along with the tears; and for a long while they simply cling to each other, sharing the pain that is too much for one alone to bear.

He looks around after a while to find Frohike's chair empty; their friend has quietly left the room to allow them some time alone. Langly is relieved; the things he needs to say to his lover are for them alone. He pulls a little away from John and cups his face in his hand, forcing John to look at him.

"Johnny, I wish you'd told me before. I love you; I wish there was a way I could show you how much I love you."

John smiles sadly at him. "I know you do; jesus, I've made you prove it the last few days. I'm sorry; I didn't want you to have to know."

Langly feels the tears pricking behind his own eyes. "Thank God you did. I want to know, Johnny, I want to know it all. You know I'd do anything, anything at all if it would make this any better."

John looks gravely at him, pulling back a little further. "I *do* know. Ree . . . you know you're going to have to give me some time to get over this . . . before I'm ready to get back to how we were."

Langly remembers what Scully said to him, that many people take months before they are able to resume relations with their partners; right now he feels that nothing is too much to give to his lover. "Take as long as you need; just remember I'll be here for you, every step of the way."

John smiles, leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. But when Langly moves to kiss him gently on the lips, he pulls back. "Ree . . .there is one thing we haven't talked about yet." He pauses. "HIV."

Langly's stomach lurches yet again and he struggles to keep his fear from showing on his face. More strength, more courage is required from him and he must not let his lover down. But John squeezes his hands gently and now it seems that he is the stronger of the two.

"Ree . . it's going to be a while before I know if I'm clear. I've got to know I'm clear before we get back together. I can't risk . . . If there was any danger of me infecting you . . . we've got to wait, Ree. You can see that, can't you?"

Langly shuts his eyes to try to hide the tears that are threatening to escape now. He had not given a thought to the risk to himself, only the threat that John could be infected; to realise that his lover was more concerned about his danger than his own filled him with humility. He looks at his lover, feeling such love he feels as if his heart will burst. "God, John, yes . . . but words fail him and he simply pulls him close again, murmuring "I love you, I love you" over and over again, while John, smiling now, strokes his hair.

END of Part 2

Next: Final Part: Finding Peace

  



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